Love and Devotion (for Him)
by Minimer
Summary: Bellatrix escapes from Azkaban, gladly to join the Dark Lord's ranks again. But soon she finds out nothing is the same anymore and she has to choose between herself and her master in order to survive.
1. Prologue

**So, I first want to apologies for any grammar or spelling mistakes you will presumable find in this chapter; my native language is Dutch and I just turned fifteen. So my English is far, far, far from perfect. But I tried to find all mistakes and fix them.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the world or characters of Harry Potter (if I did, I would not write fanfics about them..)**

 **I think you could already guess it, but this story evolves mostly about Bellatrix. Possible Bellamort and maybe (but I don't think so) eventually Bellamoine.**

* * *

Sometimes the stinging of pain in her dark mark was the only comfort she had. It would burn; it would be the only thing that kept her warm during the cold winter nights in Azkaban. The burning sensation in her arm was the reason she still had hope, because somewhere, far away, her master waited for her. Caring she let her lips rest on her left forearm, before she let her head drop against the icy wall of her cell - _cage._

Sometimes she heard these sounds. Screaming, which barely rose above the deafening silence of the Dementors. She listened to it. It took hours for her to notice that her throat started to burn, and that the screaming began to silence. Only then she would stop talking - _screaming_ and could only beg for her master in her own mind.

At first the Demontors would constantly hover by her cell. Sucking out every ounce happiness she possessed - not that it was much. The cold would start to bite and her feelings were frozen. They had sucked up - teared away every memory of her master. They had taken away the soul, now only the shell of her was left. Now it was much quieter in her cell. She knew the Dementors preferred to visit the new prisoners. Captives who still had their hopeful memories.

She did not eat anymore. The food that was rotting in a corner - what a joke, she didn't even have corners. It was all round - hadn't been touched in ages. Time became a meaningless word. She didn't feel time anymore. Didn't know if she was asleep or still on the edge of the waking world. She laid on the ground. Sometimes there were moments of consciousness, like these. Then her dark mark would start to burn and she would yearn for him. But she would always let herself slip back in the comforting arms of nothing.

Only vaguely had she noticed that her cousin escaped Azkaban. He had been put in the cell next to her, but he was less than nothing in her eyes. If the wards had suspected that they would have a little chit chat and some family-time, they were wrong. How bad the circumstances might be, how maddening the solitude made her, she would never talk to a traitor. Sometimes it gnawed on her: How could that bloody traitor escape? Then she would start to laugh and she knew her master would soon come for her.

She could not scream anymore. She slapped her hand against the walls of her cell. So often that her skin was smeared with blood. Her Master was back; she felt it. She had felt him calling her. One, two, five, twelve day-. Months ago. He hadn't come for her. She was starting to think he would let her stay in here forever. So she started to search in her mind, looking for things she could have done wrong. Looking for a reason, why she deserved this punishment. Which she certainly did; her Master always gave her what she deserved. If she had to stay here, rot, for the rest of her life, then it was her _own_ fault. If this was what her Master thought was best for her, she would gladly accept his punishment. She slapped her hand a last few times against the wall, before she began to beg for forgiveness. Begging for deeds she hadn't committed. It didn't take long this time before she was quiet again.

The wards felt something bad was coming, the darkness that predominated Azkaban seemed to be stronger than before. The prisoners more restless. The screaming continued longer, until it died away to a weak tapping against the wall and eventually only soft whispering remained. Sometimes even the Dementors stayed away from the prisoners. For the first time the wards felt like prisoners in the prison they had to guard.

* * *

The ground was shaking and the cold seemed to be even more intense than normally. It wás colder. With a soft moan she opened her eyes, she saw the Dementors flee from her cell. Her dark mark was burning as it had never burnt in fifteen years, a pain that offered her more solace than ever. She let her lips rest on the mark before she stood on her legs for the first time in years.  
By the new found power she fought against the wind, which tried to throw her with every step she took toward freedom back into the clutches of Azkaban. The wind played with her almost felted hairs. With every step she took, the pain in her body became more unbearable. Laughing, she let herself sink to the ground; her master returned for her. Her master had come to free her.

As soon as she felt the presence of the Dementors surrounding her, she knew she couldn't fight off the disgusting creatures. She didn't have her wand, her eyes opened, without a wand – and in this state – she was useless, and utterly helpless. The only time she ever felt such a heart breaking grief, was when she lost her master. Her wand was _gone,_ a wand that had accompanied her since she was a little girl. It had been there when she first kissed, killed, tortured, lost and loved someone. Slowly she closed her eyes; the presence of the Dementors overpowered her. She felt herself slipping out of consciousness.

'Expecto patronum!' she heard a low voice shout behind her. The effects of the spell made her feel like she was floating, in all those years she hadn't felt so light. The depriving power of the Dementors lessened and she opened her eyes. Next to her stood a man, clothed in robes, with a mask on his face; so she couldn't identify him if she hadn't known him already. 'Snape,' she hissed, her voice almost inaudible. Even though her voice was weak, there was an unmistakably hint of loathing in it. From the corner of her eyes she looked at the patronum: A doe.

'Tr-trait-' With a soft touch of Snape's wand she felt how she started too slipped away. With all power in her emaciated body, she tried to fight against the unspoken spell. _Traitor_ , she thought. Before she lost the fight and her eyes closed.

* * *

Her sleep was disturbed by dreams. It could've been worse, in the first years in Azkaban her dreams consisted out of nightmares, which seemed so real they were touchable, it had made her afraid to sleep. After the first five years she stopped having nightmares. The Dementors had fed her fear so many times, she wasn't afraid anymore. Sleep was something she didn't experience, it just took her over, it came out of nowhere and before she even noticed she drifted off. She did not dream anymore.

Now she had plenty of them, she couldn't rest.

Sometimes she felt something. Which was so powerful – _real_ she knew that she didn't dream it. A cold touch, on her arm, or her forehead. Soft, comforting words, which reminded her of her childhood. But escaping from the dreams, that held her captive like a spider web, was impossible. It didn't matter how hard she fought to wake, she couldn't succeed.


	2. Chapter 1

'Bella,' Narcissa said with a soft, calming sound in her voice. As a tender gesture she let her elegant hand rest upon her sister's shoulder. She felt how the dark witch cowered at the touch. Quickly she pulled her hand back; she didn't want her sister to be in more pain than she probably already was. She glanced at the clock on the wall and it indicated it was half past six in the evening. 'He should already be here.'

'Patients Cissy,' Lucius murmured. He looked with slight annoyance at the two sisters. In his eyes it was a blessing that Bellatrix had slept for over three whole days, but his wife found it alarming. 'She just needs her rest.'

'Rest? She's asleep for three days and is everything but quiet. He said he would be here already!'

With a raised eyebrow Lucius looked at his angry wife. 'I didn't quite expect that sister of yours to be quiet, not even in her sleep.'

'This not the moment,' Narcissa hissed. She bowed closer to the raven haired witch, when she heard a soft moan. 'Shhh, Bella, it's alright,' she whispered. As soon as Bellatrix lay peacefully again she glanced at her husband, which exhorted him to silence. With a worried look on her face she looked at her sister. She looked like a shadow of her former self; she was emaciated, dirty and looked like a broken doll. Not even in the slightest she looked like the (too) proud young woman she had been. Although, underneath the layers of dirt she could see a glimpse of her former beauty.

Lucius and Narcissa both looked up when they heard a _plop_ behind them. 'Severus,' Lucius said with a matter of fact tone. He nodded at the man.

'Lucius,' he murmured. Just as most of the time he spoke, there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. 'Narcissa.' He looked at the woman who sat on the bed where her sister lay, he could see she was worried. Narcissa always made sure she looked perfect, but now he could see bags under her eyes and her skin looked even paler than usual. With confident steps he walked towards the bed and looked at the raven haired witch who lay there, looking more peaceful and innocent than ever. He suppressed a snort; the memory of three days ago came back. Bellatrix saw his patronus. She knew it.

'I'm sorry, Severus,' Narcissa said with an apologetic tone. 'I didn't mean to bother you, but she's so restless. I-I think she needs help.' She stood up from the bed, so the unsympathetic could take a look at her sister. 'She has been asleep for three days now and she doesn't wake up. I guess she needs a lot time to recover, but she's so restless, I don't dare to leave her alone. She has a fever and I think her wounds are infected.'

Severus glanced at Bellatrix, who had now started to tremble. 'I shall make something for her, but she isn't that much worse than the others,' he said. He straightened up and looked in the icy blue eyes of Narcissa. 'I'm back within half an hour.' Even before Narcissa could thank him, he vanished.

As a tender gesture Lucius let his hand rest shortly on the shoulder of his wife. 'Bellatrix is just like a cockroach, she'll survive this.' He could see through the angry gaze of his wife, that Narcissa couldn't hide a small smile.

* * *

Narcissa was finally able to get some rest after Severus had given the potion to Bellatrix. The dark witch was peaceful enough that she could leave the room without being afraid. With feathery steps she walked to the bathroom, were she started to make her look presentable. Lucius had left about half an hour ago; the Dark Lord called him for a meeting. She looked at herself in the mirror, and saw icy blue eyes stare back. She shook her head and began to apply her makeup. Since the returning of the Dark Lord nothing had been the same anymore, and she feared it would last. 'Dinka,' she called. Her voice haughty and cold.

A loud _plop_ indicated the arrival of the houself. 'Madame Malfoy?' the creature asked, with a high, squeaky voice.

'Make the supper ready,' she said, without making eye contact. It wasn't necessary; something so insignificant was not worth to be looked at by her.

'I will do Madame.'

'Horrible houselves,' Narcissa scolded. She took a last glance at the mirror and walked out of the luxury bathroom. She walked through the corridors, which were mostly silver with some subtle green accents. The whole house spoke for itself: The owners of it were terribly rich. Soon she walked into her room, because she didn't want the houselves to read her letters – not they would ever do it, but she preferred to be on the safe side – her letters were delivered to her room. A smile appeared on her face when she saw a letter from Hogwarts in the pile. Sometimes she felt like the only light in the time her son was at school, were the letters she got from him. Although, the thought of him having to meet Bellatrix left her with unease. She took the letter from her desk and opened it, but before she got the chance to read it, she heard a _plop_ and a soft knock on the door.

'Madame Malfoy,' said a high voice. 'Madame Malfoy,' she repeated, when she didn't get a response immediately.

Quickly she glanced at the letter before she put it down on the desk. She opened the door and looked with loathing at the ugly creature in front of her. 'Dinka, I told you to make dinner ready!' she hissed.

'But-' The houself started. Realising her mistake, she immediately silenced. The creature knew the woman in front of her would be angry if a sentence started with "but". Narcissa told her that such a low creature like her should never even suggest the woman was wrong. 'Sorry! Sorry, Madame Malfoy!'

 _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,_ Narcissa counted, in the attempt to stay calm.

After the houself had hit her head against the wall a few times – to the annoyance of the youngest Black sister – the creature looked up to her with watery eyes. 'Master wants to speak with you. He says it is important,' the elf whispered.

It occurred to her to scold the houself, that the elf had to say it immediately, before punishing herself. But she did not want more thumping against the wall and a whole episode of apologies. She nodded shortly. 'Fine, continue with dinner, now.' She pushed the houself aside and began to walk out of the corridor. Before she walked into the living room, she checked Bellatrix, who still slept peacefully.

'Lucius,' she said when she saw her husband standing next to the couch. As soon as she saw the expression on his face, she felt a shiver running down her spine. 'What is it?' she asked, her voice sounded tight – maybe with fear. 'What did He say?'

The blond haired man shook his head defeated. 'He wants to see her, Cissa.'

'Why? He knows how she is. You told him, right? Doesn't he belie-'

'No!' He shouted. If he hadn't been so proud of his furniture, he would have overturned the chair on which he had rested his hand. He was shaking. 'The Dark Lord wants to see her with his own eyes.' With big steps he walked to his wife.

Narcissa took a deep breath. The thought of the Dark Lord (in their house) feared her more than she would like to admit. 'She is alright, Lucius, the potion helped. She is just sleeping and the fever even came down a bit,' she tried to assure him.

'That's exactly the problem!' The man hissed. 'All the other woke yesterday evening.' He bit his lip in desperation and shook his head. _He will blame us,_ were the words which hung unspoken between the two of them.

* * *

'My lord,' Narcissa said respectfully and bowed her head. When she looked up again she ensured not to look into the man's eyes, but also not down to the ground. Knowing that both choices were wrong.

'Narcissa,' the man hissed. He glanced at Lucius with disdain. If it hadn't been such a serious cause he would have laughed at the fear on the face of his servant. A fear the blond haired man tried to hide which such effort. Lucius should know by now, you couldn't fool him. 'Bring me to Bellatrix,' he said.

Narcissa nodded and she started walking to the room where her sister had been asleep for four days on end. From the corner of her eye she saw that her husband stayed in the living room, for the better. _Coward,_ she thought.

'Bellatrix is still asleep, am I correct?' Voldemort asked.

'Yes, my lord, she has been asleep since she came here.'

'Severus has examined her?'

If the cold would be gone from his voice, she could have mistaken his threatening's for concern. But she knew better, he wanted to know if Lucius had told him the truth. Every sentence that would not be exactly the same that her husband had told him before would be a reason for to punish Lucius and her until they were numb. Poser. 'Severus gave her a potion,' she answered neutrally. She didn't see any emotion change in his red eyes; then again, had she ever seen any real emotion in his eyes except anger? Carefully she opened the door of the room in which her sister was sleeping and when she looked inside she saw how her sister was laying unmoved on the exact same spot she left her earlier.

'You know that the others are already awake?'

'Yes, my lord,' she whispered. She remained in the doorway and watched helplessly how Voldemort walked into the room.

* * *

Caught. She was a prisoner. Entangled in her thoughts. Too weak to fight it, too weak to wake up. The dreams were gone now, but at this moment she would like to have something to keep her mind busy and distracted from the pain in her body. When Severus had visited she had fought – she really had (tried), she had seen on which side he was really on. Maybe he had poisoned her and she would always stay caged.

 _Then she would never be able to warn her Master._

At that thought a shiver run through her whole body.

She was locked, in a dark room. Without windows or doors, but there were sounds. They came from the outside and sounded like storms. Tapping. Thunder. It almost didn't reach her. Sometimes she could hear the words through the storm, but the significance of the words didn't reach her full.

 _'_ _She was so restless, my lord. I was afraid of leaving her alone.'_

The voice of her sister, which normally calmed her, now only unleashed long-suppressed rage that took her over so many times.

 _'_ _Did you take a look at her wounds yet?'_

Again. A voice. But this time it didn't come from her sister. She felt a wave of emotions go through her. A different feeling than rage, which was seldom in the last fifteen years of her existence. The voice belonged to him. Her Master! She tried to catch all the words he said, everything to hear his voice again after such a long time, but the energy started to drain from her. The only thing she heard now was a buzzing sound which slowly became harder.

No! She could not sink away now. Her Master was here. If she didn't wake up he would think she was useless, he would let her rot. Or kill her. _Wake up! Let me go!_

Gasping for breath she opened her eyes. In the corner of her eyes she could see her Master, whom turned around to her. She tried to sit straight; she tried to reach out for him. To fall in front of his feet and beg for forgiveness, that she hadn't been there to help in to rise again. Before Narcissa could walk to her to stop her from doing so, she rolled out of the bad. The pain in her body was unbearable, she heard things crunch from which she didn't even know they could. The pain gave her the strength to reach her master. 'I have always- always. Never believed, I know you-'

Voldemort put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. 'I know.'


	3. Chapter 2

**Thank you BlackSister394 for the review! I don't think it will become a Bellamoine story so you're lucky, haha.**

* * *

The hand that rested on her shoulder felt cold on her feverishly warm skin. With big eyes she looked up to her Master, the man she had waited for years. 'Master,' she whispered. She forgot the presence of her sister in the room and bowed her head respectful. The hand let go of her shoulder, but she did not move. Too tired to look up. Too scared to see that despite the somewhat reassuring words of her master, he would still be disappointed with her. That he thought it would be better if she had still been in Azkaban, she shuddered at the thought. She had not been there for him when he needed her.

Narcissa slowly stepped forward, afraid to interrupt the moment between her sister and the Dark Lord. When Voldemort finally turned around to her, she fixed her gaze on Bellatrix, who still sat on the ground in the same position she had when the Dark Lord had touched her shoulder. 'Bella,' she whispered. Her older sister looked at her for a moment; she gasped when she saw the cold glance in the almost black eyes. Immediately she looked a Voldemort; although that wasn't much better.

The Dark Lord took a few steps from Bellatrix. 'I take back my words, Narcissa,' he said. As way of an apology, although his whole body language spoke otherwise. 'I think it is wise to give her something to drink and let her rest again. I don't want her to hurt herself because of me.' He glanced at the witch that laid at his feet. 'We know how she is.'

'M-master, I'm not too weak, I can do this,' the dark witch lied. Her voice cut in her throat with every word she spoke, but she refused to show how weak and hurt she really was.

'Don't lie to me, Bellatrix,' Voldemort said, with a hint of a warning in his voice.

'No, Bellatrix, you have to heal,' Narcissa said. The concern in her voice was unmistakable. She nodded at the Dark Lord before he vanished with an almost inaudible plop. As soon as the man left Narcissa walked to her sister. 'Are you hurt?'

The dark witch bared her mutilated teeth at her sister and growled. 'What do you think?' she sneered. Fifteen years long she had spent in that Hell called Azkaban and she had just fallen out of bed. She certainly didn't have to hurt her pride that much by saying that she was dying of pain when it was so obvious.

'I'm sorry.' The blond haired witch grabbed her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at her sister; with smooth movement of her wrist she levitated Bellatrix onto the bed. Ignoring the hateful look the older witch had on her face.

Shivering Bellatrix exhaled. Bellatrix closed her eyes when she was levitated, something she had always hated. If only she had her wand – _Don't think about your wand_. She hated being helpless. When she felt the soft matrass underneath her she opened her eyes again.

'I will go get some water for you.'

'Cissy?'

Narcissa turned around to her sister. 'Bella?'

The dark witch felt a shiver run through her body. She felt emotions she felt maybe a few times before. The words which accompanied the emotions she currently felt, she couldn't speak out loud. But it was not necessary. Her sister nodded and they both knew it was alright.

* * *

The heat of the water burned comforting on her skin. Dirt. The night in her bed had almost been unbearable. As soon as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she was terribly ashamed of herself. Her Master had seen her in this state; it was possibly one of the most shameful things she could think of. Narcissa sat next to her on the rim. Not that she had asked for her to stay with her, but her sister thought she needed help with bathing. Something that certainly didn't do anything good for her mood.

She had let her fingertips rest on the surface of the water. Warmth like that – real warmth – she hadn't felt in a long time, but it was nothing compared to the warm sensation she had felt when she had seen her Master for de first time. With disgust she watched the clear water become turbid form the dirt that had been stuck on her body for all those years.

'It doesn't matter,' Narcissa said as soon as she saw the water start to get dirty. With a simple flick with her wand she made the water clean again. Frowning she let her gaze rest on Bellatrix's hairs. Which were always wild and curly – in contrast to her own straight and white blond hair – but the time in Azkaban took its toll. 'May I wash your hair?' she asked.

Bellatrix looked up to her sister and touched her hairs soft. It didn't even feel like real hair, and certainly not like the hair she had had fifteen years ago. It would probably need to be cut. And she found herself not really caring about it, which was surprising, because she had always cared for her looks. 'Go ahead,' she sneered.

A small smile appeared on the face of the blond haired witch. She grabbed the showerhead and turned it on. As soon as she found the right temperature she pointed it at her sister. With the tender and experienced hands of a mother, she began to wash the hairs. Although she did it with a tenderness that even Draco would envy, her sister did not seem to relax under her touch. Narcissa bit in her lower lip when she saw the tense look in Bella's eyes.

'How do I look?'

Not knowing what to say, _it could have been worse,_ she picked a small mirror of the basin. 'See for yourself,' she whispered. She gave the mirror to Bellatrix, who held it in front of her face.

Her eyes scanned her face in the mirror. Who was the person who looked back at her? A monster, a shadow of its former self. Her hair curled even though it was still we, her face haggard and she had bags under her eyes. Her lips which once were so beautiful were now partially maimed by the biting it had endured. The look in her eyes was no longer arrogant and proud. Disturbed. Not only had the appearance of her Master changed in fifteen years, but hers also. She gently touched her cheek with her left hand.

Exactly how it should be.

* * *

Bellatrix had always had a good figure. Muscular and fit with the many duels she had. The body of a trained fighter. She had always ensured that she looked beautiful, because it was expected from a pureblood woman. It was expected from a Black. Despite that, she liked the fragile body she had obtained after fifteen years in Azkaban. She had been able to make the corset of her dress tighter than ever. It gave her something fragile, and she knew she was everything but vulnerable. But keeping up appearances, after years of being clamped in the claws of her parent, became a second nature to her. It was her way to survive.

The long black dress touched her legs when she walked, it touched the floor almost. Her heels tapped on the floor. The sound felt nice. She always liked it to wear heels - even though she knew they weren't always practical. It gave her the feeling of power. Without knocking on the door she walked into the room of Narcissa and Lucius, knowing that Lucius wasn't there.

Less than an hour a go her dark mark started to burn. She wanted to come, but her brother in law stopped her from doing so. Furious she had lashed out to him, he should be happy she still didn't have her wand back. _The ministry has it; I will never get it back._ At that thought she felt a pang of loss shot through her body.

With narrowed eyes Narcissa read every sentence of the letter. In some sentences a smile appeared on her face and with others she would frown. 'Potter,' she scowled, with disgust in her voice. Suddenly she got the feeling she was being watched. When she turned around and saw Bellatrix stand behind her, a cry of shock escaped from her lips. 'Bellatrix!'

'From who is the letter?'

Narcissa quickly put down the letter on the desk. 'You should not sneak in our room, and that isn't your business.' The glint in Bellatrix's eyes made her afraid. It had always made her fearful. 'The letter is from Draco,' she said therefore.

'Draco.' She tasted the name in her mouth. Draco, a nice name. Who was- her son. 'How old is he now?' she asked with light curiosity.

With a cautious look in her eyes, she watched her sister. 'He's fifteen,' she said softly. Before the dark witch could open her mouth again – probably to ask if he was in Slytherin – she continued: 'He is in Slytherin and is one of the best of his year.' She could not resist letting a hint of the overwhelming pride she felt for her son shine in her voice.

'Ah, and he is still such a good boy to send letters to his mommy,' she pouted and tilted her head.

'In fact, he keeps me well informed about the situation in Hogwarts.'

Chuckling Bellatrix walked over to her sister. Narcissa had always been the motherly type, in contrast to her, and she could imagine that he boy would be as spoiled as hell. But what else could you suspect from a pureblood boy? 'Of course,' she said. She let her hand rest on Narcissa's shoulder. 'Tell me more about him.'

* * *

Handling Bellatrix was challenging enough. The dark witch was quickly angered and was temperamental. However, coping with Bellatrix when she was bored was close to dramatic.

Lucius looked over at his wife from the corner of his eyes, who sat across him on the couch, as he turned a page of the Dailey Prophet. The paper was filled with screaming titles about the escapes from Azkaban. He wondered whether there were actually people who fell for the lies they were told. Satisfied, he took a sip from his coffee. 'Did you receive your letter from Draco, yet?'

'Yes,' Narcissa answered. Who was drinking her tea while writing a letter. 'Actually, I'm writing back at this moment,' she murmured.

The blond haired man nodded shortly. With an annoyed look on his face he glanced at the ceiling, when he heard for the umpteenth time that morning heard disturbing noises coming from upstairs. 'Can't she be quiet for five minutes,' he growled. The growled. The last two days the dark witch had brought them nothing but nuisance. She wasn't planning on being quiet for more than five minutes; in Lucius's opinion it would be better if she still had been asleep. This all started after she wasn't allowed to go to the Dark Lord's meeting, because she was not strong enough yet. Although she kept up the appearances that she felt well, his wife looked right through it. Then there was another problem; the witch still didn't a new wand, which certainly did not improve her mood.

With a raised eyebrow Narcissa looked over to her husband. 'I suggest, if you find it so irritating, you sure can tell her that yourself, can't you?' After those words Lucius looked at the Dailey Prophet again and he stayed silent.

The 'peace' didn't last long. The dark witch walked down the stairs, with every step she took her heels tapped hard against the steps. The figure of the woman appeared in the doorway of the luxurious living room. 'I'm sick of it,' Bellatrix sneered.

With a sigh Lucius looked at his wife from the corner of his eyes, she would have to handle this.

'Bella, you are not here for over a week yet,' Narcissa started softly. 'You have to get better, else- '

The witch grunted softly and as she walked into the living room she frustrated bumped a cup off the table (with an innocent look, but no one bought it). Lucius winced slightly on hearing his favourite tea mug break. 'Exactly! Now I'm forced to stay at least another week at this miserable house, while the Dark Lord is making plans. Don't you get it Cissy? I have to be there! I at least have to practise my duelling. Else I'm just useless!' she yelled frustrated.

'Don't you think you could serve him better if you heal as soon as possible?' she asked her sister cautious.

'I feel fine.' She saw how her sister opened her mouth to protest, but closed it quickly again and nodded slowly at her.

'Alright.' Narcissa stood up from her place on the comfortable couch. Despite the fact that her sister was very intimidating, the blond witch always had the privilege to have a discussion with her without risking her live. 'On one condition.'

'Tell me,' Bellatrix growled, while she slid her arm over each other, taking a defensive stance. She was already sure she wouldn't like with whatever her sister would come up with; but she would hate to do nothing for any longer.

'I want you to let Snape check on you,' her sister pleaded. 'He has enough sense of it to know for sure if you'll only hurt yourself with it, or if you can really take it.'

For barely more than a second a look of rage and pure disgust appeared on the dark witch's face. The thought she would have to see the traitor again (and worse, still without wand to defend herself properly with) gave her a bad feeling. Despite Snape being a traitor, but he was not (that) stupid; He knew she had seen it. And he would also know she wouldn't hesitate about telling it to her Master. 'Fine,' she said. With a casual gesture of her hand she walked out of the room.

* * *

The dark witch sat on the bed, her hands stiffly clamped around the sheets of it. She did her best to keep her face as expressionless as possible, when the black clothed man walked into the room. He raised his eyebrow at the witch, but let no other emotion or expression shine through his mask of coldness. While he walked into the room he brought a chilly atmosphere with him. For the both of them was more than obvious, they didn't want anything to do with each other.

'Oh, Bella,' the man mocked, with a slanting, sarcastic, smile around his lips. 'Why doesn't this surprise me at all?'

'Do not call me Bella!' she shrieked before she realised. 'And I could ask you the same thing, it doesn't surprise me from you either,' she growled. At those words she saw the man's face cloud. His black eyes seemed to be on fire, just like hers. The only difference was that there was a fear hidden in his eyes, which was missing in her eyes. She did not shrink when the black haired walked towards her with big steps. Contrary; she grinned and there escaped a small laughter from her lip. 'Do you feel…threatened? By poor little me?'

'If I were you, I would not jump to conclusions, Lestrange,' the man growled with all hatred the hatred that his body possessed.

She laughed again. 'I have always known it,' she said, while she looked at her almost-so-dark-red-that-it-looked-black, painted nails, with a bored expression on her face. 'How can such a loser become a real death eater, you may be able to fool Lucius and those other idiots, but you should know I am not that stupid.' She looked at him with an innocent pout. With a satisfied sparkle in her dark brown eyes she let go of the sheets and looked at the man in front of her, who was shaking from anger. 'Don't you have something to do?' she sneered, 'you are here to check on me, not to be even more useless than that you already look.'

Snape said nothing, he looked the woman in front of him in the eyes. Eyes which had always radiated an aura of sheer arrogance and self-confidence. They now even possessed a hint of madness. And despite he knew that the woman in front of him was too weak to actually hurt him and still hadn't had a wand; he knew how dangerous the words from the Dark Lord's most loyal servant could be. He shook his head; she was a threat. A threat to Dumbledore, a threat for that miserable boy with a horrible scar on his head. A threat to _Lilly._ 'Crucio,' he whispered.

Gasping for air Bellatrix cringed. The pain was nothing compared to the pain her Master could – and had – inflict on her, but it felt as if her emaciated body could splash apart. As if her muscles were lit on fire and were slowly tore apart. After the first few seconds the curse had hit her she looked the man in the eye. They were not filled with the intense hatred she had expected to see, only a strange kind of regret which she did not recognize. She didn't want to give him the pleasure by showing how much it hurt her, so she stayed silent.

'Oh Bella,' the man repeated. 'Why do you have to make it so hard for all of us?' he murmured. He lifted his wand again, at that movement a flash of something resembling fear – but not quite that – flashed in Bellatrix's eyes.

The witch bared her teeth at Snape and laughed.

'Obliviate.'


End file.
